Page 14

Chief

One week.

That was how long Cora and the kid had been living in my house, and damn if it hadn’t felt like they’d always been there. My place was usually as quiet as a fucking tomb.

Now, with the two of them under my roof, it was filled with Cora’s laughter echoing through the halls and Beckett’s textbooks, sneakers, and half-empty soda cans scattered everywhere.

Leaning back in the leather chair behind my desk at the clubhouse, I lit a cigarette as I thought about how things had played out over the last week.

The mornings had fallen into a routine of me driving Cora and Beckett to surf lessons at the ass-crack of dawn, Cueball taking Beckett to school, and me leaving for the clubhouse to deal with club shit while Rage and the others continued hunting for Spike.

The afternoons and evenings? Those were different now too.

A few days ago I had the prospects install a basketball hoop in the driveway after catching Beckett bouncing a ball against the side of the house. The look on the kid’s face when he’d come home from school and saw the goal hit me in the chest like a fucking hammer. It was like he couldn’t believe someone had done something just for him. The realization that nobody probably had before made my blood boil.

“You play?” he had asked, eyes wide as he stared at the hoop.

I’d hesitated, memories of pickup games with my Pops back in the day flashing through my mind. “Used to, but it’s been a while.” Then I tossed him the ball I’d bought that afternoon, watching as a grin broke across his face, transforming him from that wary, guarded kid into just a teenager. Just a fucking kid.

We’d played around the world and H.O.R.S.E. until the sun went down, shirts soaked with sweat and talking shit the whole time.

“You think that weak-ass shot’s gonna beat me, old man?” he taunted after sinking a three-pointer.

“Old man?” I’d laughed, stealing the ball and dunking it with ease. “Just getting warmed up, kid.”

The kid was pretty good. He was quick on his feet and a decent shot. When he won both games, his face lit up with more happiness than I’d seen since meeting him.

Cora had watched from the porch, a beer dangling from her fingers, smiling that smile that made my fucking chest hurt, like she was seeing something in me nobody else ever did.

She’d been less thrilled about the prospect I’d assigned to follow her. But that was non-negotiable. Not with Spike still out there and the Russians potentially gunning for us.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she argued on day three, hands on her hips, blue eyes flashing with fury, her chest rising and falling with each angry breath. “I’ve been taking care of myself since I was sixteen, Mason. I can’t do my job with one of you minions hovering over me all day. My boss is already asking questions.”

Backing her against the kitchen counter, I caged her in with my hands on either side of her hips, feeling the heat of her body radiating through the thin fabric of her uniform. “It’s not up for discussion, baby.”

“Oh, it absolutely is up for discussion. I’m not some child who?—”

I cut her off with my mouth, kissing her until her hands were fisted in my shirt and her body was pressed against mine like she couldn’t get close enough. When I finally pulled back, her eyes were glazed over and her pouty pink lips were swollen.

“You were saying?” I asked, smirking at her dazed expression.

“That’s not fair,” she muttered, head still somewhere in the clouds as her fingers loosened their grip on my shirt only to slide up and around my neck.

“Never said I’d play fair, baby.” I traced my thumb across her lower lip, watching her pupils dilate. “I do what I gotta do to keep what’s mine safe.”

In the end, she reluctantly agreed to the prospect shadowing her, though she still complained about it daily. My woman was stubborn as fuck, but damn if it weren’t fun bringing her around to my way of thinking.

Three sharp knocks from the other side of my office door pulled me from my thoughts. “Come in,” I called, straightening in my chair as I pushed thoughts of Cora’s body pressed to mine out of my head.

The door swung open and there stood my sister. Blonde hair pulled up on the top of her head, and dressed from head to toe in black, as usual. She looked tired. There was a faint bruise on her jaw that hadn’t been there when she left.

My eyes narrowed. “What the fuck happened, Foxy?” I growled.

“Nothing.” She lifted a hand, waving me off like it was nothing.

It pissed me off that she was acting like it was no big fucking deal because it fucking was. And judging by the size of the mark on her face, a grown ass man had put his hands on her.

“Bullshit!” I growled, gesturing for her to come in and close the door.

Foxy rolled her eyes, but did as I asked before coming over and dropping into the chair across from me. “Miss me, big brother?”

“Like a fucking rash,” I said, grinning. Despite her tendency to disappear without warning, my sister was one of the few people in this world I trusted completely.

She kicked her feet up onto my desk, tilting her head as she studied me. “You look different.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“I don’t know. Less... broody?” She eyed me closer. “You seem, almost… happy? You met someone.” She was fishing, but I wasn’t telling her shit. Not yet.

I leaned forward, shoving her boots off my desk. “None of your business.”

“Holy shit, you did!” She laughed. “Who is she? One of the Cherries? That new one with the pink hair has been eyeing you for weeks.”

Not a Cherry,” I said, lighting another cigarette to avoid meeting her eyes. “And that’s all you’re getting, so drop it.”

As she started to laugh, I caught a brief flicker of sadness in her eyes.

“You good, Cali?”

The shutters came down when I used her legal name and she forced a smile. “Peachy, big bro.”

Before I could dig into what was going on with her, her expression shifted, becoming more serious. “I picked up some intel while I was away.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up at her tone. “About?”

“The Russians.”

Fuck. I’d been hoping that had been a dead end. “Go on.”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper even though we were alone. “I was in St. Louis handling a thing for the Bastards.”

My brows shot up. That was the last thing I was expecting her to say.

The Bastard Saints were newly patched-over. There were a handful of members that Denali expected to push back. The fact that my sister had already been called in had me thinking maybe the transition wasn’t going smoothly.

“While I was there,” she continued, “I ran into an old contact. A Russian guy named Viktor who sometimes feeds me information.” She paused, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He says the Bratva is seriously pissed about someone fucking with their pipeline.”

My jaw clenched painfully. “How pissed?”

Her expression was grim. “What the hell have you gotten into, Mason?”

“Blood-feud pissed.” Her expression was grim. “What the hell have you gotten into, Mason?”

“Couldn’t leave those women in cages, sis.” I shook my head, remembering the vacant stares, the bruises, the hopelessness. We did our best to stay in our fucking lane but seeing those girls like that... No. I couldn’t do it. “Some lines you don’t cross.”

“They were worth millions, Chief. And the whispers on the streets are saying there was one woman in particular that was promised to someone high up.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, rubbing her temples. “Viktor says they’re sending their heavy hitter from New York to ‘assess the situation.’ Does the name Nikolai Sidorov sound familiar? It should. He’s the son of Ivan Sidorov.”

“The Devil of Doskoy,” I muttered, recognizing the name from old stories my father used to tell. Ivan Sidorov had been responsible for at least thirty confirmed kills in the late nineties, earning his nickname for his ruthless method of disposal. The bodies of those who crossed him were found in pieces, scattered across state lines. He was a real vicious fucker in the world of wet-work.

“The very same,” Foxy confirmed, her voice dropping even lower. “Junior’s supposed to be even worse than daddy dearest. Cold, calculating, and utterly ruthless. They say he cut a man’s eyes out for looking at his woman wrong. Made him eat them before killing him.”

My stomach lurched. I leaned back in my chair, letting the information sink in. This was bad. Really fucking bad. The Saints were a powerful club; we had charters all over the country, but we didn’t have the numbers or resources to take on the Russian mafia in a full-scale war. Nobody did.

“There’s more,” Foxy said, her voice dropping lower. “Viktor says Spike was more than just a business associate. He’s Sidorov’s cousin by marriage or some shit. He’s their family.”

Dread formed in the pit of my stomach, cold and heavy as a stone. “You’re fucking with me.”

She shook her head, her expression dead serious. “Wish I was, brother. But it explains why they’re taking this so personally. It’s not just about money anymore, it’s about respect and settling scores.”

“That meth head piece of shit is related to Sidorov?” I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. Spike was a low-level scumbag, not someone I’d have pegged as having connections to the upper echelons of organized crime. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thin.

“Distant relation, but in their world, blood is blood.” Foxy sighed, taking a deep drag from her cigarette. “Sidorov’s been in Jacksonville for three days. Viktor thinks he’s gathering intel.”

My hands curled into fists on the desk. “Target assessment.” It was the first step when gearing up for battle. Know your enemies’ weak spots.

“Exactly.”

I didn’t need to ask what the targets might be. Businesses first—our legitimate operations like Saints Ink, Heaven’s Door. Then personal shit like homes, families, our women...

Cora.

A cold knot formed in my gut. This wasn’t just about club business anymore. This was about the people I cared about, the people who depended on me to keep them safe. I saw Beckett’s face in my mind, and remembered the way he’d looked at me when I’d taught him how to change the oil in my truck. I thought of Cora and how she curled against me in her sleep, trusting me to keep her safe.

Pulling out my phone, I fired off a quick text in the officers’ group chat.

Church tonight. 8PM. Mandatory.

“Call Shade,” I told Foxy as I dialed Killer’s number. “Fill him in, get his take. If anyone has insight into winning a war against the fucking Russians, it’s him.”

She nodded, already pulling out her phone.

Killer answered on the second ring. “Prez.”

“Need to talk to you about security,” I said without preamble.

“Everywhere?”

“Everywhere.”

He grunted.

“How’s the girl?” I asked, remembering we still needed to talk about the woman he was keeping in his room.

There was a pause. “Memphis is fine. What’s going on?”

“Got confirmation the Russians are in play. Need to lock everything down, especially the clubhouse and the warehouse.” I hesitated, then added, “And my house.”

He grunted again.

“Maximum security, brother. The Bratva sent Sidorov to handle the situation. Name ring any bells?”

“Fuck,” Killer cursed, his voice dropping to a growl. “Dangerous.”

He wasn’t wrong. But all we could do at this point was roll with the punches. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best. That’s all any outlaw could really hope for.

“Gonna need to call in reinforcements from everywhere. Miami, New York, St. Louis. Fuck, call the Kings and see if Tacoma can send any of his boys down here. Can’t have holes in our security.” My mind raced through scenarios of how shit could go fucking south.

“What about your house? Want a brother there now?”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly three. Beckett would be out of school soon and Cora was at work until four. “Yeah. Send Reign and whoever else isn’t busy. Have them do a sweep of the perimeter and set up a rotation. I don’t want Cora or the kid left alone for a second.”

There was a beat of silence, then a low rumble. “Sparrow’s sister.”

“He doesn’t know yet,” I admitted, a hand coming up to rub at the back of my neck. “Been putting that conversation off.”

Killer hummed, the sound heavy with meaning.

Yeah, I felt pretty much the same way. I was as ready to have that talk as I was for a root canal with no Novocaine.

“Her work?” Killer asked. “Diner’s exposed.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache building. “I’ll handle it. Just get the security in place at the house.”

The chatty fucker grunted again and then the line went dead.

“Cora?” my sister asked, one eyebrow raised. “As in Sparrow’s baby sister, Cora?”

I looked away. “Don’t even fucking start with me, Cali.”

She held up her hands, a smile threatening to break loose on her lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it, big brother.” Then, more seriously, gaze softening, “You love her?”

My brows snapped together.

Did I love Cora? I mean, she’d only been speaking to me again for a little over a week. “It’s too soon for love.”

Foxy shook her head. “Let me ask you this, dipshit. What would you do if she walked away.”

“Fuck that,” I snarled. “She’s not going anywhere. Cora’s mine!”

My sister smirked. “I think you have your answer.”

Fuck me. It was way too fast, but I couldn’t even imagine my life without Cora since having her back in my life and in my bed.

“Yeah,” I said roughly, the admission scraping my throat raw. “I think I do.”

Something softened in Foxy’s expression. “Then we’ll keep her safe, Mason.” She reached across the desk, squeezing my forearm. “All of us will.”

I nodded, grateful she wasn’t giving me shit. “What’s your read on the situation? How bad is this going to get?” My sister wasn’t a member of the club but there was nobody I trusted more in situations like these. Foxy saw things in a way none of us ever could.

Leaning back, she crossed her arms over her chest, eyes distant. “If we can find Spike and hand him over to Sidorov, maybe we can smooth things over. Make it clear we had no idea he was connected, that our beef was strictly business.”

“And if we can’t find him?”

Her expression darkened. “Then we’d better prepare for war.”

The weight of her words settled heavy on my shoulders. A war with the Bratva would be brutal, bloody, and potentially devastating. We’d already lost Heaven’s Door temporarily; they’d trashed Saints Ink. If things escalated further, people could die. People I cared about.

My phone vibrated across my desk and I picked it up.

Reign: At your place now. All clear, setting up security.

Some of the tension lifted from my chest. At least Cora and Beckett would be protected at the house. But I needed to get Cora out of that diner. She was too exposed there, too vulnerable. And I needed to talk to Sparrow before he heard about us from someone else.

As if reading my thoughts Foxy asked, “What about Sparrow?”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I’ll call him after I pick up Cora. Need to have that conversation face to face.”

“Brave man,” she said, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “You want me to be there when you tell him you’ve been sleeping with his baby sister?”

“Fuck off,” I growled, tossing a stack of Post-it notes at her.

Foxy laughed, standing up and stretching her arms above her head. “I missed you too, hermano.”

As she walked toward the door, I called after her, “Cali?”

She paused, looking back over her shoulder.

“It’s good to have you home.”

Her expression softened, but there was that shadow again in her eyes. Loneliness. “It’s good to be home.”

After she left, I sat in silence for a moment, letting the full weight of the situation sink in. The Bratva. Sidorov. Spike was still on the loose. And in the middle of it all was Cora and Beckett, two civilians who had no idea what kind of danger was coming their way.

I’d made a promise to keep them safe, and I intended to keep it. But I hadn’t counted on the fucking Russian mafia being part of the equation. This wasn’t some dispute over territory with another club like we’d originally thought, and it wasn’t the usual beef with local dealers fucking around in our city. It was goddamn worse. The Bratva operated on a completely different level.

Standing, I grabbed my cut off the back of my chair and shrugged it on, feeling the weight of the leather like armor across my shoulders. The first thing I needed to do was talk to Cora.

Fuck.

I ran a hand through my hair. I really wasn’t looking forward to explaining that she was going to have to take some time off work. That we were heading into something dark, something dangerous.

Heading out of my office, I nodded to the prospects behind the bar on my way out the door. As I threw my leg over the seat of my bike and started the engine, the rumble vibrating through my bones, my thoughts drifted back to Beckett and Cora. They’d become more important to me than I’d ever expected.

And that made them targets.